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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27518758">The Good Student</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomxanthem/pseuds/phantomxanthem'>phantomxanthem</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Good Doctor (TV 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Did I come up with this at 3 in the morning? Yeah, Dorms, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Murlendez, Neil Melendez is literally just arrogant, Protect Shaun Murphy at all costs, Slow Burn, Teacher-Student Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-08 05:07:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,319</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27518758</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomxanthem/pseuds/phantomxanthem</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After less than twenty-four hours living on campus at San Jose State University, pre-med student Shaun Murphy has already made friends with his quirky roommate and his kind Uber driver - but has found an enemy in the man who so happened to be in the collision path of his shopping cart. He hopes to never see this man again - but he has long since learned that things don't always go the way he plans.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Neil Melendez/Shaun Murphy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Good Student</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello, AO3, and hello, Good Doctor fandom! I'm just going to jump right in and say that I am very late to the game in that I JUST found out that Murlendez was a Thing™ - and I fell in love with the idea of writing about these two together, but I absolutely do not have enough medical knowledge to feel confident in retrofitting the canon plot to leave Melendez alive, so I more or less said "fuck it, AU where everybody's in college." Three days and an amount of knowledge about first-year residence halls at San Jose State University that I will absolutely never need again in my lifetime later, we have this.</p><p>All feedback is welcome, I'd love to hear from y'all.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Shaun Murphy did not like air travel very much.</p><p> </p><p>He had never been on an airplane before today, but he had long since determined that he was perfectly capable of discerning which things he did and did not like without putting himself through the torture of repeating things he did not enjoy - as if forcing himself through unpleasant experiences time and time again would somehow serve to change his mind - and as such, he was quite confident with his conclusion that airplanes were quite terrible. The air tasted different, stale and recycled and artificial; it was much too warm, but the small air vent above his head made an unpleasant sound; and to top it all off, there were no apples available as snacks, despite the blurb on the airline website claiming that would be the case. Upon further reading of the magazine in his seatback pocket, he learned that the “expanded snack menu” was only available on flights that lasted five hours or longer - and while he had spent near double that amount of time in transit between the small regional airport in Wyoming and the much larger San Jose International Airport if his layover in Denver was taken into account, neither of his individual flights accounted for quite the five hours required. They should have made that distinction more clear online, he thought.</p><p> </p><p>Shaun figured that the unpleasant air and the disappointing snack options would be features of just about any flight. On his particular leg between Denver and San Jose, however, he was sandwiched between an older woman who seemed to lack a basic human understanding of personal space and had settled her elbow several inches past the armrest which divided him, despite his many polite requests of “I do not like that your elbow is here, could you please move it?” and a man about his age who had paid for in-flight Wifi and was jabbering away with a group of friends on FaceTime much more loudly than Shaun would like. He had reached into his front pocket and unfolded a blue piece of cloth to reveal his bright orange plastic scalpel - he had not packed very many things to take with him, since he did not own very many things in the first place, but how could he leave behind something which still reminded him so vividly of his beloved younger brother, Steve? - and began to stroke the backside of the blade as he was apt to do when his senses were overwhelmed; to his dismay, though, he had been promptly asked by a flight attendant to conceal it, lest other passengers see it and think it to be a weapon. “It is not a weapon. It cannot be a weapon, it is a toy,” he had tried to explain - to no avail.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry,” the attendant had told him, her eyes cold as though she was not really sorry at all. People, Shaun had learned, tended to say lots of things that they did not really mean. “Airline policy.”</p><p> </p><p>Shaun decided right then that he did not like airline policy, either.</p><p> </p><p>If all went according to his plan, this would be the last time that he had to step foot inside an airplane. His residence hall at San Jose State University would not allow him to stay over the winter and summer breaks, but the housing website had informed him that there were other housing options on campus which could accommodate a limited number of students during those times, and after an exchange of several e-mails with a representative from the university, he had been assured that due to his “outstanding circumstances” - meaning his lack of family to take him in over school breaks and a concurrent lack of a “permanent physical address” - he should have no problem securing a room when that time came. Despite its familiarity and relative tranquility as compared to the much larger city he was preparing to call home, Shaun would have been perfectly okay with never setting foot in Casper, Wyoming again. The fact that doing so would mean putting up with all of his present unpleasantries all over again only further solidified the sentiment.</p><p> </p><p>In fact, the only thing Shaun could think of that he dreaded more than the prospect of future air travel was the prospect of living with a roommate. SJSU required all first-year students to live on campus, and while he luckily had the option to avoid the eight-person, four-room suite that was favored by many other incoming students, he had not been able to secure a single room, since the expense for one of those went beyond the portion of his scholarship that had been allotted for housing. Instead, he had been informed via e-mail a few weeks prior that he would be sharing a double room with somebody named Lee. He supposed that having one other person in his space would be much more peaceful than the environment he was leaving behind - an understaffed, overcrowded group home that he had been moved into following the departure of his mentor and guardian, Mr. Glassman, to assume the position of dean at the university at which he now found himself a student. The boys there were rambunctious and mean, even the younger ones, and would often injure him on purpose but claim that they had done so on accident - and would <em> always </em> get away with it. Really, as long as Lee wasn’t violent, he could endure the situation.</p><p> </p><p>However, the truth was that he didn’t know anything about Lee. Not if he was loud or quiet, not if he was an early bird or a night owl - not even if he preferred incandescent or LED lightbulbs, which Shaun had concluded to be a very pertinent issue in regards to the first place where he would live without a formal adult supervisor calling the shots on things such as that. He had attempted to reach out to his new roommate via the contact information that was provided to him, sending a text message that said plainly and simply, “hello. I am your roommate,” but had not received a reply. Mr. Glassman had taught him that other people did not appreciate persistent messages - even when they <em> ought </em> to be persistently messaged - so he had not said anything beyond that, but he wished he had a chance to gather information about Lee before blindly moving in with him.</p><p> </p><p>But it would be better than Casper. It <em> had </em> to be better than Casper. </p><p> </p><p>And at once, he was grateful that the young man to his left was absorbed by his FaceTime call and that the woman to his right was absorbed by her nap, because neither of them were attentive enough to be bothered when he began to murmur that to himself to soothe him through the rest of the flight. <em> It has to be better than Casper </em>.</p><p> </p><p>Right?</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Shaun liked Uber rides much more than he liked air travel.</p><p> </p><p>No such service had existed in the tiny town that he was pleased to say he no longer called home, and though Mr. Glassman had offered to pick Shaun up from the airport himself, the young man insisted that he could make his way to the university on his own. He knew that Mr. Glassman cared for him and only wanted to help, but nobody liked to believe that he could do things on his own. If he couldn’t get from the airport to campus by himself, who would believe that he could get through four years of pre-med?</p><p> </p><p>Car air was more pleasant than plane air, and the upholstery was much less overstimulating than the scratchy faux fabric the airline had chosen to cover their seats, and Shaun liked being able to see his surroundings as they whizzed by as opposed to a shapeless expanse of clouds. He had already memorized a map of San Jose, and he recognized several landmarks as they entered and exited his field of vision. He caught himself wishing Steve could see this - and as he always did when he thought of Steve, instinctively reached for his toy scalpel in his pocket. He caught himself before revealing it entirely, though, remembering the flight attendant’s disproportionate response to his non-weapon.</p><p> </p><p>Slowly unfolding the blue cloth that was its home, he lifted the halfway-visible scalpel and asked his driver, uncertainly, “is it okay if I take this out of my pocket?”</p><p> </p><p>The driver - Alexander P., according to the app - glanced behind him to see what Shaun meant, and the initial suspicion in his face relaxed when he saw what his passenger was so concerned about. “Sure, dude,” he replied nonchalantly, “I don’t give a fuck.”</p><p> </p><p>A few seconds passed before Alexander asked, “I’m going to turn on the radio; care what station?”</p><p> </p><p>Shaun smiled - cautiously at first, then sincerely. He was not used to anybody besides Mr. Glassman having much regard at all for what he wanted, even for things as small as choosing what to listen to on the radio. It felt good, he decided. “I also do not give a fuck” was his ecstatic reply.</p><p> </p><p>Alexander laughed, tuning the radio to an alternative rock station. “No fucks given. I like you. What brings you to San Jose?”</p><p> </p><p>“I am a first year student at San Jose State University. I’m going to be a surgeon,” Shaun answered gleefully.</p><p> </p><p>“And he dreams big, too! Pre-med’s killer. I took a whack at it myself, way back when, but as you can see, the glamorous career of being an Uber driver turned out to be my true calling.”</p><p> </p><p>“You are… joking,” Shaun said hesitantly. “This is not your true calling, is it?”</p><p> </p><p>Alexander raised an eyebrow. He had thought his sarcasm would be obvious, but something about the way his passenger spoke with curiously-timed pauses and inflections indicated to him that perhaps the young man didn’t process things in the same way as other people did. He sure knew how to cut right to the point, though. “You’re right, that was a joke,” he said. “I can’t believe I’m telling this to a stranger, but I’m not happy doing this.”</p><p> </p><p>“You should go back to school,” Shaun said, as nonchalantly as if he were telling the man that he should buy a soda or watch a new TV show. “It is impossible for a pre-medical degree to kill you. There are many dangers on college campuses, but you look much too old to be involved in the kinds of parties and events where people are likely to put themselves in harm’s way.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wha - oh, I said it’s killer. I just meant that it was… hard,” Alexander mused, looking at himself in the rearview mirror. It was true that he no longer visually fit the profile of a typical college student - his face had a few more set-in lines than it used to, and he had long since outgrown the copious use of hair gel that plagued his brief college days; in fact, he didn’t know why he had ever thought that looked particularly good on him. Examining his hair as it was now, jet-black and shoulder-length, he was pleased to note that his precursory glance didn’t reveal any pesky greys. Yet. “And hey, I’m not that old!”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sure you noticed that I am younger than you,” Shaun stated simply. He was only freshly eighteen, after all, and his clean-shaven face made him look closer to twelve. “But it’s okay if you didn’t. You should focus on the road, Alexander.”</p><p> </p><p>A sharp “ha!” from the driver made Shaun jump. “Maybe I should. And call me Alex.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, Alex.”</p><p> </p><p>And the small car containing Alex and Shaun and Shaun’s two bags continued down the highway, changed lanes, passed a maddeningly slow soccer mom van, pulled onto another highway, then exited almost immediately to turn down the road that would take them to Shaun’s new home.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Shaun knew exactly what to expect when he arrived at SJSU. He had committed the map of the campus as well as layouts of all the buildings and libraries that would be relevant to his schedule to memory, and even had Alex drop him off directly in front of Joe West hall, where he would be residing with the still-mysterious Lee; the address was a permanent fixture in his mind after reading it once, as were the maps, as were the contents of the “It’s Move-In Day!” e-brochure he and every other student had been e-mailed.</p><p> </p><p>He knew that the lobby would be crowded, but he had already learned exactly which desk to visit to receive his room key. He beelined straight there.</p><p> </p><p>He knew that he would end up with an armful of free t-shirts on the short walk between the desk and the elevators, each boasting the names of different clubs and student organizations that had staked out in the area to clamor for the attention of himself and his fellow new students - new <em> neighbors </em>, he reminded himself. He figured that less than half of them would be made of a fabric that he could wear comfortably, but the inevitable promise of an influx of clothing lightened his packing load considerably nonetheless.</p><p> </p><p>He knew that Room 208 could be found through the left set of double doors, straight down the hallway, last door on the left. Five rooms away from the laundry facilities, two rooms away from an emergency exit.</p><p> </p><p>However, Shaun did not know that the Resident Advisor for his wing would take the liberty to pre-decorate the bulletin boards adorning each door with his and his roommate’s names in bright neon blue letters that hurt his eyes. This threw him for a loop. Setting his bag and eleven (he counted) new shirts on the floor and reaching to remove his letters from the door, he noticed that Lee’s name had been modified. Part of the second “E” had been turned on its side, and a torn-off portion of the letter had been repositioned to form a bar spanning across the letter. It now read “Lea.”</p><p> </p><p>Shaun did not know that would happen. He did not know that Lee would be Lea.</p><p> </p><p>He did not know that Lea would be a girl.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>“Heeeeeeey.” Shaun heard his roommate’s voice as soon as he inserted his key in the lock, before he even had a chance to see her. He liked to finish one task before beginning another, though, so he opened the door inward, propped it open with his bag, gathered his shirt pile from the floor, and made his way into the room.</p><p> </p><p>It was no smaller than his room at the group home - perhaps slightly bigger - and that was a room he had been made to share with five other boys. Divided evenly down the middle, this room held a bed, desk, and tall cabinet that appeared to serve as a closet on each side, with a window centered along the back wall. The sunlight was harsh, and he would have to buy curtains with the stipend his scholarship provided for living expenses, but overall he thought the room would serve its purpose for his studies and a place to lie down at night.</p><p> </p><p>Lee - no, Lea - had already claimed her side of the room. She must have been here for some time, he thought, observing that she had decorated the wall alongside her bed with floral-themed art prints and posters of bands he didn’t recognize. Many of her belongings were dumped haphazardly on top of her desk; she had clearly prioritized decoration over organization in her new room. Her bed was made up with pillows and comforters in neutral colors, which provided a nice contrast to the visual clutter of the rest of her space, and she sat atop that comforter cross-legged, her phone in one hand and a mostly-full bottle of liquor in the other.</p><p> </p><p>Did his residence hall really have co-ed rooms? He didn’t see himself holding gender to a particularly high level of importance had he been given the option to select a roommate from a list as opposed to having one randomly assigned, but he had not been prepared for the possibility - and Shaun did not do very well when he wasn’t prepared for things. Furthermore, he had explicitly been told that he would be sharing his living space with a <em> completely different person </em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello? Anyone in there?” Lea asked, eyeing him suspiciously. He had, after all, not spoken a word since walking into the room and affixing himself to a spot on the floor that did not allow him to do much more than stare at her wall with a blank face. She had set her phone down and begun to twirl a chunk of her shoulder-length wavy hair with her pointer finger; her roommate and/or intruder had the potential to become a much more interesting situation than reading tweets from people in her hometown with whom she really had no long-term intention of keeping in touch.</p><p> </p><p>Shaun shifted his gaze to meet hers. “This is a mistake. You are supposed to be a boy named Lee,” he declared.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, that?” Lea laughed, then took another sip straight from the bottle of liquor - her hand shifted, and Shaun could see that it was tequila. “Can you believe there was a typo on my literal high school transcript? My registration and all of my paperwork here have the wrong name, and I can’t change it without a notarized signature from my old principal - who hated me, by the way, so wish me luck with that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good luck,” Shaun said, literal as always.</p><p> </p><p>“No, don’t wish me luck - I’m probably not going to bother,” Lea clarified. She shifted, setting the tequila on top of a stack of books on her desk and shoving the sleeves of her blue overshirt up to her elbows. “But hey, <em> you </em> lucked out - you’re the only guy on this floor who gets to live with someone as exciting as me.”</p><p> </p><p>Shaun tensed up. “I am not lucky. I wanted a single room, but instead I have to have a roommate.”</p><p> </p><p>“Woe is you,” Lea teased. “We’re all stuck living on campus for our first year, and singles are rare. At least this isn’t a triple; I know none of us want to argue over who gets the top bunk like middle schoolers at summer camp.”</p><p> </p><p>“I have never been to summer camp.” Silence filled the room - Shaun’s statement didn’t leave much room for a response - and he mentally began a more detailed analysis of Lea. Her overshirt had a few buttons undone, revealing a soft grey t-shirt with a large blue Spartans logo - logically, she must have carted an armload of new clothing up to the room, just the same as him. Black sweatpants and bare feet completed the lazy outfit; she looked cozy and settled in, despite the haphazard stack of books on her desk and the matching pile of bags and clothing on the floor. She had pinned a postcard reading “Welcome SJSU Spartans Fall 2021” to the wall alongside two pictures of herself with people that she must have known in her hometown - Hershey, Pennsylvania, he deduced from the visible lettering on the sweater that hung over the back of her chair.</p><p> </p><p>She was messy - Shaun did not know if he liked that - and talkative to boot, but she seemed to be relaxed and willing to be friendly. He reminded himself that his biggest hope for “Lee” was that he would not be violent; Lea seemed like she would live up to the expectation. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder - </p><p> </p><p>“You did not reply to my text,” he accused her. “I could have been privy to your identity ahead of time if you had replied to my text.”</p><p> </p><p>Lea feigned shock. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Hello, I am your roommate too?’”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Shaun said. “It could have led to further conversation, during which you might have mentioned that you are not the person that the housing department had portrayed you to be.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shaun,” Lea whined. “Is it really that big of a deal?”</p><p> </p><p>“I was unprepared. I do not like to be unprepared.”</p><p> </p><p>“We’re all unprepared! This is an entire <em> building </em> of unprepared freshmen.”</p><p> </p><p>Shaun scrunched his face up. “I do not like it. I should not have to like it more just because other people do not like it. I do not like it.”</p><p> </p><p>Lea noticed Shaun’s change in demeanor - while he had at first seemed cautious and perhaps even annoyed, he had shifted to being outwardly overwhelmed in the blink of an eye. She realized, then, that he might not just be cranky. There might be something else going on.</p><p> </p><p>She stepped up to close the door, dampening the sound of a group that had gathered at the end of the hallway to argue about where they thought the dining hall was. Then, she reached out to touch her roommate’s arm, hoping to provide reassurance - but he jumped to his side, clenching his arms to his side as if they were glued there. “Please don’t touch me!” he implored her.</p><p> </p><p>Lea dropped her arm back to her side. “Shaun,” she asked, eyes wide with newfound worry, “are you okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Shaun sighed heavily. He had given this speech so many times he could recite it in his sleep, but he didn’t think he would have to give it so soon. The lights suddenly seemed very bright, and the room seemd very small - but it was his room, and he had grown sick of having to conceal things about himself in his own room. “I… am autistic,” he admitted. “New people and new situations are difficult for me, and I don’t pick up on social cues very well. And I don’t like being touched.”</p><p> </p><p>“No touching,” Lea echoed, “got it. You know, I was worried I would end up in a room with someone who just wanted to get in my pants, but I guess that’s a weight off my shoulders.”</p><p> </p><p>“I would not want to be inside your pants; they look much too small for me.”</p><p> </p><p>“I like you,” Lea bubbled, either having already put the immediately preceding awkwardness behind her or never having felt awkward in the first place. Shaun was glad for this - the typical responses to his diagnosis were either outright contempt and disgust or an over-the-top pity party; he hated both those options. He supposed he could live with non-violent, non-hating, non-<em> oh-you-poor-baby- </em>ing Lea, and was just about to voice this sentiment when she spoke again.</p><p> </p><p>“Here’s the deal, Shaun. I’m cool with this if you are - gender aside, we’re still just two people in a room. No loud music in the middle of the night, keep your crap on your side of the floor, and we’ll even throw in a no-touching rule; does that work for you?”</p><p> </p><p>Shaun felt his shoulders begin to relax, tension evaporating from the air. “Probably,” he said. “What kind of lightbulbs do you like?”</p><p> </p><p>“I had no idea there were different kind of lightbulbs. Do you like tequila?”<br/><br/>“I have no idea.”</p><p> </p><p>Lea grinned. “This should be fun.”</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>An hour later, Shaun and Lea found themselves at the Target near campus. Lea had been appalled at seeing Shaun pull just one bed sheet and one pillow out of his duffle bag, and despite his insistence that they were all he needed, made an executive decision that the two of them were going shopping.</p><p> </p><p>“I do not need to go to a large store,” Shaun had argued. “I researched this before my arrival; everything I need to buy is available on campus.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, did you research that they jack prices like crazy?” Lea had retaliated. “I mean, five dollars for ten pencils? As if they think we’re rich.”</p><p> </p><p>“I already brought pencils. I need to buy a small lamp and new toothpaste and probably curtains and - “</p><p> </p><p>“Not the point, Shaun. You own, like, four shirts that aren’t from clubs you won’t join, one pillow that looks like it’s older than us, and ZERO decorations. It’s abysmal!”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s practical.”</p><p> </p><p>“Practical is boring. We’re going shopping.”</p><p> </p><p>Before Shaun could protest further, Lea had called them an Uber, and after a short ride with a driver who was much less talkative than Alex, ushered him into the store. Thankfully, she never grabbed his arm to direct him around, but there was more than one exasperated “come <em> on </em>, Shaun” as she coaxed him towards the bedding aisle, filling their cart with trinkets from the endcaps of other aisles along the way. </p><p> </p><p>Presently, Lea was running through the pros and cons of a blue-and-gold striped comforter that had obviously been stocked in anticipation of the influx of college students. “On the one hand,” she mused, “they have a discount on all the school spirit crap. On the other hand, it’s school spirit crap. I will <em> actually </em> throw up if you buy this,” she declared, decisively placing it back on the shelf.</p><p> </p><p>“Bedding should not cause nausea if it is cleaned properly,” Shaun added. “You should clean your sheets and blankets every two weeks.”</p><p> </p><p>“Copy that, Shaun - but back to the issue at hand, please.” She shoved a few more bags aside, hoping to find a diamond in the rough at the back of the shelf.</p><p> </p><p>A simple comforter, black with thin grey pinstripes, revealed itself through Lea’s rifling. “I like that one,” Shaun informed her. “It is simple, it has a high thread count, and it is not blue and gold so you will not vomit.”</p><p> </p><p>In a swift motion, Lea fished it out from the back of the shelf. “Boring,” she critiqued, “but do you.” She tossed it into their cart, then, to his surprise, climbed in after it.</p><p> </p><p>“Why are you in the cart?”</p><p> </p><p>“Push me!” she cajoled. “It’ll be fun!”</p><p> </p><p>“It will be physically strenuous,” he argued.</p><p> </p><p>“So? It’ll pack some muscle onto those noodle arms of yours!” She had a point; Shaun practically swam in the basic long-sleeve shirt he had adorned for the day - and it was a size Small.</p><p> </p><p>Still, he had to point out, “my arms are not noodles. They are regular arms.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shaaaaaun,” she whined, “just do it! Please? Pleasepleaseplease?”</p><p> </p><p>“If we are reprimanded by an employee, will you exit the cart?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p>Lea rolled her eyes into the back of her head. “Sure, whatever - now come on, I want to buy a blender!”</p><p> </p><p>Straining, Shaun turned the cart around and piloted it towards the back of the store, with Lea giggling happily the whole way there. His roommate really wasn’t that heavy, but the carts were not designed to bear quite so much weight, and he could hear the small wheels screeching as they struggled to carry the load. Steering was difficult, as well; the turning radius was clearly impacted.</p><p> </p><p>A concrete pillar blocked the middle of the walkway - Shaun was annoyed by the obstacle, but Lea took it in stride, screeching “race track!!” as she leaned in the direction of Shaun’s turn. The cart banked around the pillar… and came crashing to a stop as it collided with a man wearing well-ironed black pants, a crisp button-up top, and a displeased scowl. The man’s eyebrows furrowed together as he analyzed the situation before him: two young adults, at least one intoxicated, taking a merry little joy ride right into the spot where he was trying to decide between fabric and wooden clothes hangers. He tilted his chin slightly, as if challenging the duo to try and justify what had just happened.</p><p> </p><p>Lea spoke first. “I’m so sorry - I totally didn’t even see you there.”</p><p> </p><p>The man ran a hand through his hair, short and dark and meticulously gelled back. His brown eyes met Lea’s (tipsy, unsteady) gaze. “You didn’t see me. Are you aware that I could file suit against both of you for undue bodily harm?”</p><p> </p><p>“You should only sue me,” Shaun provided. “I was the driver, and Lea was just the passenger.”</p><p> </p><p>“It was my idea, Shaun!” Lea protested, climbing out of the cart clumsily.</p><p> </p><p>The man set his jaw. “I don’t care whose idea it was; I care about the bruise that’s going to form on my side overnight.”</p><p> </p><p>Shaun perked up at the opportunity for medical discussion. “The cart’s velocity was significantly encumbered by the extra weight of my roommate.” Ignoring a <em> hey! </em> from Lea, he continued “you will likely bruise, but you should not be susceptible to any internal bleeding or further complications, especially since you appear to be in peak physical condition.”</p><p> </p><p>The man scoffed. Was this <em> kid </em> really trying to <em> flirt </em> his way out of the situation? “Listen,” he started in, “if you think that kissing up is going to get you anywh - “</p><p> </p><p>“Neeeeil!” a familiar voice sang from across the aisle. “I found more of the plushy towels you like, which color do you - what’s going on here?”</p><p> </p><p>Shaun looked up to see Alex, his Uber driver from the ride to school, standing across the aisle with an armful of linens. He had stopped in his tracks, as if the tension in the air had created a barrier preventing him from coming any closer.</p><p> </p><p>“Alex,” Neil greeted. “Blue. Could you please tell this young… hooligan and his girlfriend that their horseplay is dangerous to my well-being?”</p><p> </p><p>Alex looked up then, and his face lit up as he recognized his passenger from earlier in the day. “Gives-no-fucks Shaun! Hey; I guess I’m supposed to tell you and your girlfriend to settle down.”</p><p> </p><p>“We’re not a couple,” Lea mumbled, leaning against the pillar for support. The tequila, it seemed, was catching up to her.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello, Alex,” Shaun said. “Lea is just my roommate. She was riding in our shopping cart, and now Neil is going to sue us.”</p><p> </p><p>Picking out the blue towel from his arms and leaving the rest in a heap on a nearby table, Alex walked towards the group. “Seems a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” he quipped.</p><p> </p><p>Puzzlement permeated Neil’s anger. Intrigued, he attempted to make eye contact with Shaun as he asked “so you’re just accepting this lawsuit as fact? Taking it at face value?”</p><p> </p><p>Shaun nodded. “You seem very arrogant. Arrogant people don’t think they need to lie.”</p><p> </p><p>Alex and Lea burst into simultaneous laughter at the young man’s observation, and anger took over Neil’s face once more. “You little - “</p><p> </p><p>Alex cut him off. “Neil, chill. Shaun’s good people. It was probably an accident.”</p><p> </p><p>“It <em> was </em> an accident,” Shaun confirmed. “Neil just - “</p><p> </p><p>“And where do you get off on calling me Neil as if we’re friends? It’s <em> Dr. Melendez </em> to you.”</p><p> </p><p>Shaun picked up right where he left off. “Dr. Melendez just thinks he has sustained greater injuries than I believe to be likely. If it turns out that he is correct, it would be well within his right to pursue legal action.”</p><p> </p><p>Lea’s voice filtered into the conversation again. “But don’t sue us, we’re poor.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, Neil,” Alex concurred. “Don’t sue them; they’re poor!”</p><p> </p><p>Neil certainly carried himself as though he were the type of person who could and would take such action - if his nice clothes and perfectly-maintained grooming weren’t indication enough, the self-involved air that seemed to surround him was - but he rubbed his eyes as though he were too tired to carry out his own threat, and conceded. “Fine, but go away. I never want to see either of you again.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then you probably shouldn’t shop at this Target again,” Lea crooned, as Shaun chimed in with “I never want to see you again either.”</p><p> </p><p>Alex laughed, and seamlessly pulled Neil’s attention back to the clothes hangers he had been eyeballing before the crash as Shaun and Lea maneuvered around the other men and made their way back to the front of the store. </p><p> </p><p>They never did buy a blender.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Don't worry, Shaun... you'll see him again.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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